Heartbreak Hotel
by RainbowBetty
Summary: On their way to investigate a series of unexplained deaths, the Impala breaks down outside the ruins of a once-opulent, turn-of-the-century hotel. The boys soon discover that the sole caretaker is not what she seems, and her interest in Dean could put both of them in danger. Season one case!fic
1. Chapter 1

**PROLOGUE**

A flash of lightning gave a split-second illumination to the dark interior of the bedroom, long enough for him to catch a shadowed glimpse of the fear showing in his lover's face. Her fingers dug tighter into the sleeve of his shirt. "Stay here," she pleaded in a whisper. "Stay with me, don't go out there."

He lowered his head close to hers. "It'll be okay," he whispered back, his hand over hers gently working free of her fingers. A loud, sudden noise just outside the door made him freeze and clutch her hand hard, his heart thudding hard in his chest. After a moment, his hand relaxed again, and he whispered, "Whatever it is, I'm going to protect you. I swear. I'm not going to let it hurt you. You stay here. And no matter what, no matter what you hear, don't come out."

She took a shaky breath and nodded into her chest, her dark, wavy hair curtaining her expression.

A another violent crash of lightning made them both jump, and suddenly the locked door to the bedroom burst open.

He shoved the girl behind him and stood facing the invisible force, looking around wildly for a weapon. Moving with what felt like instinct, he reached to grab an iron poker from the fireplace set near the hearth. Gripping it with two hands, he aimed a powerful swing at the thing he couldn't see.

The rod connected solidly with something in front of him, causing whatever it was to cry out in pain.

The tone of that cry made him pause, his breath caught in his throat, and he felt himself scouring his subconscious for the source of the unease it dredged up in him. In the air in front of him, he heard ragged breathing, broken by a soft grunt and a moan. The sound of it made him waver, the rod lowering slightly. Then he felt something touch his shoulder. He yelped and leapt back, swinging again in the direction of the touch. He contacted hard with the invisible thing. The force brought another cry of pain and the sound of staggering footsteps.

He looked at the floor, frowning, puzzled by the smears and drops of red that appeared there. _It shouldn't bleed,_ he thought disjointedly. _Ghosts don't bleed._

He looked back at the girl, feeling shaken and confused. Through the darkness, he could make out her wide, fearful eyes and her hands clasped tightly to her chest, white fingers twisted into knots at the base of her delicate neck. The sight of her looking so frail and terrified steeled his resolve, and he felt a surge of adrenaline hit him like an electric shock. He couldn't let this thing hurt her. He would die before he let that happen. He spun around, brandishing the iron poker.

"Kill it!" she begged.

The sound of her voice emptied his mind of all conscious thought, and he let out a low growl as he raised the rod high over his shoulder, listening intently for the sound of its uneven breathing. He lunged forward, and as he did his foot caught on a raised loop in the oriental rug laid out before the fireplace. He came down hard, unable to catch himself, his skull cracking solidly against a sharp jut of stone from the raised hearth.

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

"Dean," Sam pleaded, "I'm not kidding. You should pull over."

Dean spared a second of his attention from the messy road to shoot his little brother a pained look. "Where?" he demanded. _"Here?"_

Sam swallowed hard as a car passing in the opposite direction on the narrow, two-lane road threw what seemed to be a bucket's worth of water directly into their line of sight. There was an agonizing moment of blindness until the wipers swooshed the windshield clear again, only to be immediately obscured by the crashing downpour. His hand tightened involuntarily on the door handle, imagining the car barreling forward into the darkness ahead, the tires losing their grip on the slick road and sending them careening into a ditch or tree. "Just... yes, _here!_ On the shoulder. Look, I get that you think you're an expert behind the wheel, but-"

_"Think_ I am? Come on, Sammy."

"Sam," he corrected.

_"Sammy."_ Dean smirked and stole another glance over at Sam, taking in his stiff, nervous posture. "Relax, I got this. Besides, there's no shoulder here and cars are barely getting by as it is. How far are we from Dad's coordinates?"

Resigned, Sam pulled the map from under his seat, still keeping an anxious eye on the road ahead. He unfolded it along its well-worn creases and tilted it up to the window, then toward the car's interior to try and catch enough light to read the tiny type of small-town names. "Are we still on Route KK?"

"That sounds right," Dean affirmed. "This seems like the kind of town that's always just one K short of a lynch mob."

Sam raised his eyebrows, slightly horrified. "Really? Classy, Dean. Real classy."

"Eh, you know me," Dean dismissed with a shrug. "_Mister_ classy. How far, you think?"

Sam shook his head and tilted the map again, squinting hard at it and bringing it close to his face. "About a-"

They both lurched, seat belts locking as the car jerked with a loud, grinding squeal, Sam's hands flying out to instinctively brace against the dashboard and door while Dean gripped the wheel hard and gritted his teeth, fighting for control as the tires locked up and the wipers seized in mid-stroke. He aimed for what he hoped was the side of the road, praying that they were surrounded by flat farmland and not a rain-bloated creek or steep drop-off.

Momentum carried the Impala off the road as they rode out a wild series of bumps over a grassy dip in the terrain. Sam clung to the side of the door and braced for whatever impact was sure to follow, hearing Dean's litany of curses and his staccato _shit!-shit!-shit!_ with each jolt the car took.

Thankfully, after a moment, they rolled to a stop. An eerie stillness filled the cabin punctuated by the rain that continued to pound the roof. Sam and Dean, not daring to breathe yet, exchanged wide-eyed stares.

His hands still tightly fisted around the steering wheel, Dean leaned back and breathed out through pursed lips.

"Did we hit something?" Sam ventured at length, reaching down to retrieve the map from where it had flown in the chaos.

Dean frowned and shook his head. "That sounded mechanical. And everything just locked up all of a sudden. It's not supposed to do that."

"No shit," Sam breathed.

"Hand me the flashlight under the seat, smartass." Dean flipped the collar of his jacket up, preparing to get drenched as soon as he opened his door. Sam complied, his hand closing on the familiar feel of the, silver metal Maglight without needing to look, and flipped the "on" switch.

Nothing happened. He flipped it off, then on again, then gave it an aggravated shake.

"Are you kidding me?" Dean demanded.

Sam stared at it in disbelief. "Dude, I _just_ replaced the batteries in this!"

"Where are the extras?"

"In the trunk," Sam said, grinning apologetically.

Dean rolled his eyes, snatching the dead flashlight from Sam and pushing open his door into the torrent outside. Sam did the same out of solidarity, meeting his brother in the rear of the car under the dubious shelter of the open trunk.

Wind howled through the open field around them, whipping Sam's bangs into his eyes and stinging his face with cold needles of rain. As Dean searched for the package of batteries, Sam peered into the distance ahead, where the road had been taking them.

"Dude!" he said, putting a hand on Dean's arm to get his attention. He pointed, and Dean followed his gaze.

Not fifty feet ahead but still difficult to make out through the sheets of rain, set back from the road, was a pale, statuesque building adorned with curving architecture, columns, and tall, stately windows stacked over three stories. A wrought-iron gate clanged against its post, trembling in the high winds.

"That look a little out of place to you?" Dean wondered out loud.

"It looks old," Sam said. "Like _historical_-old. Probably one of the first things they built in the area while everything out here was all farmland."

Dean looked at the expanse of nothing around them. "_Was_ farmland?" he snarked.

"We're like fifty miles south of Independence, Dean. It's not like this is the middle of nowhere."

"Might as well be. You see any other houses or anything out here?"

Sam shook his head. "Not for a while."

"Yeah," Dean said to himself. "Nothing but a creepy, deserted old building, and no..." Dean finished inserting the new batteries and flicked the flashlight on. The light stayed dead. "Oh, come on!" He gave it a solid whack against the side of the trunk, which didn't work either.

"Just as well," Sam reasoned. "You can't fix this tonight, not in this. Come on." He nodded toward the building. "Shelter!"

* * *

_To be continued._

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	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Dean grudgingly accepted that Sam was right, although it pained him to leave his baby broken down like this in an empty field. He handed Sam his duffle and shouldered his own, giving the trunk an extra, reassuring pat as he closed it and silently promising her not to be gone too long.

They trudged through knee-deep weeds and mud back to the side of the road, the storm seeping in through their jackets and plastering their clothes to their skin. Dean broke the lock on the gate with a well-placed kick, then looked up at Sam with a self-satisfied grin to see if his brother was impressed. Sam rolled his eyes. "Vandalism?"

"You're the one who's so eager to break and enter," Dean shot back, undeterred.

Sam shrugged and gestured at the sign hanging above the iron gate. "The Grand Hotel," he read. "Sounds right up your alley, mister classy."

Dean snorted, shifting the weight of his now-soaked duffle on his shoulder. "Come on," he said. "Maybe the cockroaches have clean towels and turn-down service."

On their way up the circular drive toward the entrance, they stopped, startled by a light that suddenly flickered on in one of the windows. The gauzy curtain in the window rustled and a slim figure moved into view behind it.

"Shit!" Dean exclaimed, grabbing Sam by the sleeve of his coat and pulling him down with him to duck into the bushes lining the drive.

The heavy, inlaid oak door creaked open and the figure stepped outside onto the top step of the stone staircase.

"Who's there!" called an uncertain voice, decidedly female.

Dean exchanged a surprised look with Sam, hesitated only long enough to weigh the potential unknown threat against the likelihood of contracting pneumonia, and he straightened, stepping out of the bushes.

The woman clutched a thin hand to her throat and stepped back into the doorway. "Who's there?" she demanded again, no doubt appraising the bedraggled appearance of the two strange men who had appeared out of the storm on her property.

Dean raised his hands disarmingly. "Sorry, don't mean to spook you," he assured her, doing his best to seem charming, given the circumstances. "Our car just broke down, just past the gate." He gestured with a vague wave, and she looked past them uneasily, even though there was no way the Impala could be visible from where they stood.

After a moment, she gave a jerky nod, then made a small motioning gesture with one hand, keeping her other hand clasped close to her chest. Sam wondered if that hand concealed a necklace or some other piece of jewelry, and if she had a habit of unconsciously concealing her valuables from strange men. He did his best to look non-threatening as he followed close on Dean's heels up the rough stone staircase.

"You're welcome to stay," she said, a bit hesitantly as Dean and Sam stepped over the threshold, mindful of the fact that water was running off of them in rivulets onto the scuffed hardwood floor. "It's just that... it's just me now. Since the-the... incident." She trailed off, looking self-consciously down, and then back up at Dean. "If you'll forgive the dust," she added, offering him a too-bright smile.

"We don't want to be any trouble," Dean assured her.

Sam was prying his wet jacket off and attempting to contain the dripping mess as best he could when he stopped and looked at her with interest. "What incident?" he asked. He wondered how far away they were from the job Dad had sent them to do, and whether there might be a connection.

Dean shot him a disapproving glare. "Dude," he mouthed. "Not now."

Sam looked back questioningly. _Why not?_

"Oh, it..." Her fingers went to her throat again, fiddling nervously. "The Grand murders. You know." She looked at Sam, puzzled.

"I'm sorry, we don't know. We're not from around here," Sam said apologetically. "Was someone murdered here?"

Dean stepped in front of Sam. "You'll have to forgive my brother," he said. "He's a bit of a-" he glared at Sam again. "Like a dog with a bone for details. Small-town history buff." He took the girl's arm by the elbow and smiled, oozing charm, and led her further inside through the paneled atrium, toward what appeared to be the front desk. "I'm Dean, by the way. What did you say your name was?"

"Matilda," she said, glancing down shyly and pulling away from Dean to take back control of the situation. She was clearly young, but she carried herself with poise and a sort of confidence that Sam had to admit was a quality he found attractive.

Jess had been like that, so independent. So damn beautiful. Sam felt his chest tighten at the loss every time she crossed his mind. Which was often.

With difficulty, he reined his attention back to the present, in which Matilda had crossed the paneled atrium to the front desk and was brushing dust off the open ledger.

"And _this_ is my brother. _Sam,"_ Sam muttered darkly to Dean, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Very nice to meet you. Oh, how funny! No, _I_ didn't even realize I was in the room _either_ for a second there."

Dean, not amused, elbowed him hard in the ribs.

"What?" Sam protested.

"Dibs," Dean said under his breath, nodding in the girl's direction.

Sam looked at him with disgust. "Fine," he muttered back. "Ask her about the murders. It could be related to the-"

"Here you are," Matilda said brightly, holding out a key to each of the boys.

Sam took one of the keys from her. "One room will be fine," he said, thinking about the research they still needed to do. Even assuming he couldn't get wi-fi, which he conceded was likely, they still had dozens of articles to look through related to the disappearances. Dean clearly had plans to stay up all night cavorting, but Sam still needed to be able to shake his ass out of bed bright and early, and he didn't like the idea of being separated when they were staying someplace unfamiliar.

She passed a confused look between the two of them. "Oh, I didn't... I mean, of course, I just thought... I'll see which rooms have a king bed. I'm sorry, I must have thought you were-"

Dean quickly reached out and took the second key. "We are," he said firmly. "_Brothers_. And separate rooms is _perfect_."

She smiled at him. He smiled back, looking completely lost in her eyes, and Sam seriously considered stomping on his foot to snap him out of it.

"Okay, good. Come on then, this way," Matilda said. She turned and led them past the red-carpeted sitting room and up a wide staircase. Sam ran his hand lightly over the smooth, polished wood of the banister and kept casting sideways glances at Dean, whose eyes were glued to Matilda's pert backside.

At the top of the stairs, she apologized over and over again about the lack of upkeep and the dust, with Dean repeatedly assuring her that they were just glad to be in out of the rain. Every word from him seemed to draw a broader smile from her, and by the time they reached the two adjoining doors, Dean seemed to be unable to look anywhere else.

Sam cleared his throat. "Thank you. Again. For setting us up on a moment's notice like this. We really do appreciate it."

Matilda nodded. "It's been just me for so long... nice to have company." She glanced at Dean again, shyly.

"How long, exactly?" Sam wanted to know. She didn't seem that old, mid-twenties at most. But from the way she talked, she seemed to have been on her own for quite some time. And there was also quite a bit more dust than he would have expected if the murders she was referring to had taken everyone else within the last few years.

But Dean interrupted again before Matilda could answer. "We'll just get dried off and cleaned up," he said. "It'll be awhile before I turn in. Any chance of a nightcap?"

Sam did a double take at his odd word choice.

Matilda smiled and brought a hand up to touch a thin gold chain that descended into the neckline of her gauzy blouse. "I'll be downstairs." _Probably a locket,_ Sam guessed, basing the assumption on the apparent losses she'd suffered. _Or a charm, or an heirloom. Definitely something sentimental._

As she descended the stairs and disappeared from sight, Sam grabbed Dean by the arm and spun him around angrily. "Dean! Seriously? A _n__ightcap?_ What the hell was that?"

Dean blinked at him. "What?"

"Look, you want to chase tail, _fine._ But we're probably no more than a few miles off the coordinates Dad sent us. You don't think maybe we should find out if whatever murders happened here might be, you know, our kind of thing?"

"This is not our kind of thing, Sammy. It's j-"

_"Sam."_

"It's just a nice girl all alone in a creepy-ass old hotel who could use a little male companionship, if you know what I'm saying. And look around you, man. This place _is_ creepy."

"It's just old. It's probably on the historical registry in town. And Dean, I _really_ don't care what you do tonight, but _one of us _should do a little poking around just in case. And don't get carried away, okay? We need to fix the car first thing tomorrow and head out."

"I guess," Dean said noncommittally, looking absently at the staircase where Matilda had gone. "I'm not looking forward to getting covered in mud and grease just to get a damn car working."

Sam, who had been fitting his key into the lock of his door, stopped and gave Dean a disbelieving look. "Wait-what did you- did you just call the Impala a _car?"_

"Huh?"

_"Baby._ You just called her a 'damn car.'"

Dean blinked at him again, then turned to his own door and jammed the key into the lock. "Whatever, man. All I know is, tonight, if the walls are a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'."

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed open the door to his room.

* * *

_To be continued._

Thanks for reading, and thanks to AshleyMarie84, Ginnylove9990, Mythopoeia, SayLo, SuperSonic21, elfinblue, my muse mb64, Lucydolly22, SPNxBookworm, LAHH, kjdw, Jeanny, knwinchester, Tifaching, flygirl33, and my BFF Sarah for reviewing!

I'd love to know what you think so far! :-D


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